


Starts With O

by defyningravity



Category: The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: Adam’s POV, But he figures himself out, Confused Adam, Dirty Talk, Dom!Blake, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Angst, Protective Blake, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22230559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defyningravity/pseuds/defyningravity
Summary: Adam Levine’s mental and physical journey to acceptance of himself and what he feels towards Blake Shelton. Equal parts introspective angst, humor, and hot sex.Well. There’s probably more sex than anything else. But I’m guessing I won’t hear any complaints about that!
Relationships: Adam Levine/Blake Shelton
Comments: 5
Kudos: 53





	Starts With O

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Shevine fic and my first time posting a fic anywhere, so go easy on me! 
> 
> All good lies have some truth to them, and all believeable stories are based on reality. So naturally I decided to take my inspiration from the classic Shevine hug. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy!

It started with a hug.

In retrospect, I should have known the things his embrace would lead to. When Blake hugged me on the day we met, the heat was already there. As we got closer emotionally, the same happened physically. His hugs became longer, more frequent. 

They took place on live television.

Which, I mean, should not have been an issue. Except that it was. I wanted him and his warmth wrapped around me in every way possible. And that didn’t make sense. I’m not gay. So I pushed him away, desperately clutching at some shred of the man I had always thought I was. Desperately hoping that the cameras didn’t see something in me that I couldn’t.

The first time I felt his lips on my neck, his stubble scratching my chin, my knees buckled. He didn’t notice, he was holding on so tight. I scrambled away from him to the safety of my own chair, rapidly disintegrating into a sweaty ball of internal chaos. The other coaches played it off. Blake was laughing. The whole room was laughing. 

Was that all it was meant to be? Some cruel, mindless joke? A publicity stunt? My sweaty palms and suddenly tight pants implied otherwise. Taking a deep breath, I did what I do best and shoved the appalling mess of feelings that I hadn’t asked for to the depths of my mind.

They resurfaced that night, though. I later cursed my subconscious for not allowing me the typical blessed respite from waking problems. The dream was unusually vivid. My naked skin writhed under his touch, and I was gasping, moaning, begging. He gave me everything, everywhere, all at once. I never saw his cock, but I felt it – felt it rutting into me from behind, felt it filling my mouth, felt its thickness driving into me before pulling out and spurting on my back. I woke to the feeling of my own semen coating my chest, still feeling the press of Blake’s phantom hands on my hips and his lips on my neck.

I couldn’t look at him the next day. Or the next. After the third day of avoided eye contact and forced conversation, he knocked on my trailer door. I knew who it was before I pulled the latch, but still hadn’t quite prepared myself for those sparkling blue eyes searching mine. 

“Hey, rock star,” he said softly, looking up at me with concern. “Can I come in?”

I stepped back, allowing him entrance, before closing the door behind him.

“Do you want a drink?” I asked halfheartedly, gesturing for him to sit on the couch. He sat, ignoring my question and intently studying his hands. His question was sudden.

“Are you ok?”

I swallowed.

“Yeah,” I shrugged. “Just kind of worn out.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is? Because you seem to be kind of distant lately. Everyone is worried about you, Adam. Me especially.” 

I groaned internally. Everyone? What the hell was that supposed to mean? 

“We thought maybe you’d like to go out with us tonight, get whatever you have on your mind off of it,” Blake continued, with his usual dose of clarity and sense. Which is none at all.

I snorted, but sobered when I saw the look on Blake’s face. He was employing those concerned, pleading puppy eyes. Great. I was screwed.

“Yeah, ok,” my mouth volunteered, my mind unhelpfully calling it an idiot and supplying images of Blake Shelton with his shirt unbuttoned shooting whiskey in a shady club at the same time. This resulted my being served a cocktail of conflicting emotions as I tried to usher Blake out the door without a hug.

Predictably, he would have nothing of that, and squeezed me tight, tucking my head under his chin and whispering a meaningless “love you” before descending the steps of my trailer into the outside world.

The club was loud, hot, and crowded. In other words, it was the perfect place to forget about someone you couldn’t have. Except that the man in question was always by my side, presumably protecting me from “the masses of drunk females”. Maybe a drunk girl is exactly what I need, I thought bitterly. But the booze slid down my throat with ease, and soon I became one of the writhing bodies on the dance floor. Shakira and Usher laughed when I stumbled back to our table, collapsing on Blake’s lap with a groan. I felt his voice rumble in his chest as he announced that he was going to take me home. 

I took a valiant three steps before my legs gave out. Blake, of course, was right behind me, waiting to catch me. 

“Don’t puke in my truck,” he said, as he lifted me into the monstrosity. 

“I’m Adam Levine, I puke where I please,” I mumbled, in what seemed like a brilliant comeback at the time. Blake shook his head and ruffled my hair before climbing into the driver’s seat and pulling into traffic.

We sat in the comfortable silence that is born of habit. I chose not to dwell on the normality of Blake driving my wasted ass home from LA clubs at midnight. Put that way, it makes my life sound like a mess. Or lots of fun. 

Realistically, it’s a bit of both. Life is just different shades of gray.

I said that last part out loud. Blake stoically looked ahead for a few beats and then turned to me with a smirk.

“I don’t know, your language is pretty colorful at times,” he grinned. That earned him a badly aimed smack on the shoulder.

“Isssnot my fault your brain isn’t big ‘nough to do existential…stuff,” I slurred, crossing my arms. Blake laughed like he does, like he’s some hillbilly Santa Claus. I couldn’t help but smile.

The next thing I was aware of was Blake’s arms picking me up and carrying me to the door. 

“Put me dowwwn,” I whined as Blake carried me up the stairs to my bedroom.

“Not a chance, rock star,” he replied, before laying me softly on the bed. 

I sat up and blinked, some of the fog clearing from my head. Blake was standing in front of me, looking adorably helpless.

“Do you want to shower or just go to bed?” he asked, with a scrutinizing gaze.

“’S ok, Blake, I can manage,” I said rather unconvincingly as I stood up and winced. “You can sleep in the guest bedroom if you don’t want to go home.”

“Okay,” he said softly, gazing at me with pupils blown large in the dim light of the room, silver hair sparkling in the night. “G’night then.”

He opened his arms and I sank into them, too tired and sexually frustrated to be sensible. He held me for a few moments, then started rubbing soothing circles on my back. I shivered and buried my face deeper into his shoulder, breathing in his scent. I don’t know how to describe it exactly; it’s a subtle arrangement of pine and masculinity and whiskey and freedom.

If America has a smell, it’s Blake Shelton.

The hands on my back slowly drifted up to my head, gliding softly through the hair there. I knew what was coming. One hand braced my lower back as the other grabbed my hair and gently pulled my head back, exposing the ivory expanse of my neck. Blake leaned in and covered it and my collarbone with tender kisses.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this before. But before, I had been able to convince myself that it was for the cameras. Before, it was a game, part of the never-ending torment we subjected each other to. Now, I was unable to stop the vivid flashbacks from my aforementioned dream that flooded my mind.

I moaned.

The sound was unmistakable in the quiet of the night. Blake paused and looked me in the eye, effectively staring into my soul. He swallowed.

“Damn,” was all he said, before capturing my mouth with his. 

It was hot, wet, and sloppy. My brain gradually stuttered back online to the point where I could try to hold my own with his desperate movements. After a few glorious moments, he took a step back, looking as though it pained him. In that light, his sustained eye contact felt more intimate than the kiss.

“Shit, Adam, tell me if you don’t want to do this. I’ve wanted you for so damn long and now here you are, fucking wasted, and I don’t want to take advantage of you and this is not how I thought this would happen and I can’t fucking take a drunken hookup with you because you mean so much more to me than that and I have no idea what the hell I would do if you up and left me afterwards.”

I gaped at him for a moment, willing my poor brain to process his typical bumpkin ramblings. After a moment, I gave up.

“Dunno what the hell you were trying to say but I love you, Blake, and I always have. I always will, damn it. I can honestly say that I’ve never felt the things I feel for you for anyone else.”

I pulled him back to meet me. The kiss was sweet, slick, tantalizing. So different than the desperate clash of lips just seconds before, and so much more meaningful. Eventually, I pulled away for air. 

“And you said I had a colorful vocabulary?” I smirked, biting his lower lip.

“Arrogant bastard,” he growled, lapping at my neck with his tongue. His hands had traveled down to my ass, and suddenly they pulled me towards him, grinding my hips against his. Sparks of pleasure shot up my spine as I felt his hard, clothed cock against mine. Blake stilled when he had pressed me tightly to himself and began sucking a love bite into my neck. I held out for a few seconds, then gave in and rutted against him in short, restricted movements, eliciting a low groan from the man in front of me.

My hand traveled between our chests where I found a nipple and rubbed it through his shirt. This earned me an “oh fuck” and a powerful thrust forwards from his hips as he ground against me. I was a whimpering mess at this point. God knows I have a serious lack of self-control even at the best of times. This scenario could not be classified as such.

As he arched into my touch, I had this irresistible base urge to kneel and worship the man in front of me in every way I could. Irrational thoughts that I had never had before flooded my mind – I adored his tall, sturdy frame and the knowledge that he would protect me and take care of me. It seemed wrong, but all I wanted to do is curl up to him and let him have his way with me.

I wanted it. I wanted him. I wanted him to have me.

I sank to my knees and mouthed at Blake’s sizeable bulge through denim, then looked up to meet his eyes. The pure, fiery lust there would have scared me if it had been anyone else. But it was Blake, so all I could do was whimper before unzipping his fly and letting his pants sag to his knees.

It was at this moment that I became abruptly, alarmingly sober. His thick cock sprang free from its confinement, gently slapping me on the cheek and forcefully hitting me with the realization that I was an absolute novice when it came to giving head. Noticing my hesitation, Blake caressed my hair, gently turning my head upwards to meet his eyes. 

“You ok, darlin’?”

“When did “rock star” become “darlin’”?” I asked breathlessly.

“Sometime around when you said you wanted me to take care of you, Adam,” he said softly.

“I did not say that out loud.”

“You did, and you better be damn glad I ain’t callin’ you “diva” ‘cause of it,” Blake grinned.

“You better be glad I’m not calling you “douchebag” and kicking you in the balls,” I retaliated. Leave it up to Blake to totally squash the mood.

“You better suck my cock before I fall asleep on my feet,” he winked, nudging at my lips with the leaking head, coating them with precum. I reflexively licked it off, earning a moan from the man above me.

“You look so pretty like that, Adam,” he breathed, and I swallowed him all at once.

There was a sharp intake of breath above me and the hands in my hair tightened painfully. I glanced up to see Blake’s eyes scrunched up, looking as though it cost him considerable self-control not to thrust wildly into my mouth.

Though it turned me on immensely, I couldn’t dwell on this image long; I currently had a mouth stretched full around his erection, and precum was leaking at a steady rate into my mouth and back out of it as I lapped and sucked and panted around him. He tasted like he smelled; distinctly earthy and masculine and damn sexy. I was like this, stretched full and drooling Blake’s precum, when I looked up and made eye contact with the cowboy.

He didn’t bother to give me a warning before he came. It was probably because he wasn’t planning to. I still pride myself on the fact that it was my hungry gaze that sent him over the edge.  
At any rate, I suddenly found myself with a mouthful of semen, and for lack of other options, swallowing it. A big hand reached down and pulled me up by the collar and I barely had time to orient myself before Blake was licking his own cum out of my mouth. 

“Fuuuuuck,” he moaned, between licks. “Such a pretty slut boy.”

“When did “darlin’” become “slut boy”?” I whimpered, with none of the intended sass.

“Darlin’” up and flew away when you looked at me with your mouth around me like a fucking whore,” Blake growled, and I very nearly came on the spot. Instead, I gasped and humped Blake’s torso.

“Shh, shh,” Blake whispered into my ear while sucking yet another hickey on my neck. “Imma take care of you, sweet thing. Don’t you worry.”

“Imma make you feel so good, you ain’t gonna remember anyone you been with before,” he continued. “I’m gonna break you all up into little pieces, but then I’m gonna put you back together so gently, and kiss it all better. I’m gonna touch you until you can’t imagine life without my hands on your body, Adam.”

“Then hurry the fuck up and DO it!” I whined, writhing in my pants, trying to get friction from my jeans.

“Patience,” he murmured, kissing me again. 

That’s the thing. Patience has never been one of my virtues. And here I was, half-drunk at one in the morning, with the man I had wanted for ages, and what does he do? Tease me mercilessly. Deep down, I knew I couldn’t have expected any better from Blake. But either way, my predicament was very, very real.  
I felt his hands on my collar and heard an abrupt rip. Buttons flew off of my shirt and ricocheted off the walls, bouncing gleefully before rolling to a halt in some neglected corner, taking all of my remaining sanity with them.

His mouth was on my right nipple and his hand was on my left, sucking and pinching, pulling and biting. I bucked up into his touch, moaning shamelessly. Soon, I felt warmth pooling in my belly and I snuck my hand between us to palm at my own cock, desperate for release. Blake noticed, though, and removed his mouth, swatting my hand away and bringing me back from the edge.   
I was damn near close to crying. In fact, I might have done, into Blake’s chest – tired, horny, and over-sensitive that I was. To say that I was feeling overwhelmed wouldn’t even scratch the surface.

Some soothing nonsensical words and kisses later, he lowered me to the floor and straddled me with his knees on either side of my hips, which were bucking up into the air of their own accord. He pressed a massive palm to my chest and undid my fly with the other hand, taking a moment to admire my cock as it flopped against my stomach, precum trickling out of my slit. Then his hand was around me, and his face was close to mine, and we hovered there, breathing each other in.

Five purposeful strokes later, I was coming with an intensity that I did not know was possible. Stars flashed behind my closed eyelids as I shook and rode the waves of ecstasy. Gradually, they slowed, and I opened my eyes as the aftershocks ran pleasantly up and down my spine.   
Blake was kneeling over me, his hand on his fly. He scooped up some of the cum on my stomach and reached inside his pants, bringing out his erection and slicking it before jerking off. Too worn out to even sit up, I watched with hooded eyes.

“Blake,” I said. His hand movements slowed, and he opened his eyes, looking down at me.

“Yes, sugar?” he rasped. 

“I want you to cum in me.” I stated, looking him full in the eye.

His breath hitched. “Wanna save that for another night, sweet,” he intoned, looking like he was convincing himself.

“Don’t need you to fuck me, just cum in me, big country,” I sassed, rolling my eyes as if this made total sense. Blake seemed to get it though, and lifted my legs (which were still tangled in my jeans) up to my chest, speeding his hand movements. After a moment, I felt the cum-slicked head of his cock press slowly into my hole. 

He was close, I could tell. His palms came down on either side of my head, his face contorted in pleasure. Finally, he opened his eyes, looking down into mine.

“Fill me, Blake,” I whimpered, clenching around him at the same time.

That did it. I felt his hot cum spurt into me, copious amounts of it. I moaned, and my soft cock twitched sympathetically, a little more jizz dribbling out. The cowboy went limp, collapsing on top of me with a groan. After a few minutes where the only sound was our heavy breathing, I burst out laughing. Blake propped himself up, looking completely befuddled. 

“The hell is goin’ on with you now?” he questioned, squinting at me.

“The bed is literally two feet away from us and we did it on the floor,” I managed after a while, still giggling. 

“Still don’t have a clue what “it” was,” Blake smirked, picking me up and laying me on the bed for the second time that night. “That was hardly a real fuck.”

“Whatever it was, it was good,” I murmured into his chest after he climbed on next to me.

“You’re damn right, rockstar.”

I woke first the next morning. I chose not to delve into the emotional aspect and implications that the previous night had incurred and instead assessed our situation. Blake was spooning me with his pants on and shirt unbuttoned. I was shirtless and bruised, with my pants still around my ankles. The taste in my mouth was stale and many levels of horrible. 

Something was trickling out of my hole. I gasped at the sudden spike of lust in my stomach. Hello again, insatiable libido. 

I clenched, trying to hold Blake’s seed in. I could already feel the wetness between my thighs, though, and realized that his cum must have been leaking out of me all night. My wriggling woke the cowboy up, and he pressed a kiss to the back of my neck before looking down and moaning at what he saw and humping into me.

“Ahh, such a gorgeous, gorgeous slut you are, Adam,” he moaned. 

“You claimed me,” I whimpered, relaxing and letting a little more cum run out of my hole. 

“Damn right,” he growled, running a thumb over one of the many hickeys on my neck. 

After a moment, he flipped me onto my stomach and made his way down to straddle my legs, finally relieving them of my pants first. It wasn’t long before I felt two fingers at my hole, scooping up the cum between my legs and pressing it back in. My hips stuttered in abortive thrusts against the mattress, my boner pressed between it and my stomach. 

“Such a pretty hole you have, sugar,” Blake began, and I could feel the reverence in his tone. I blushed and hid my face in a pillow. 

“Such a shame to do such dirty, bad things to such a perfect hole. But I know you want it, don’t you, rock star,” he continued, finally slipping his fingers inside of me.

I could do nothing but whimper and take them, continuing to mindlessly hump the bed. I felt him lean over me, his chest to my back.

“Should make you stop fucking the bed,” he whispered hoarsely in my ear, “But you look so pretty and I can’t help but let you have what you want,” he admitted, punctuating his words with little thrusts of his fingers and still-clothed cock against my back.

“More,” was all I could say, as I fucked myself on his fingers. He retreated a bit to see what he was doing, and proceeded to finger fuck me into oblivion. Gone was the teasing attitude from before. Every move he made was made with the sole purpose of bringing me to a shattering climax.

Naturally, he did. Quite honestly, Blake turns me on so much I could probably come from just his voice growling obscenities into my ear. Once he found my prostate it was over in a matter of seconds as I came all over the bed.

“You liked that, didn’t you, sugar,” he was saying, and I heard the fly of his jeans being unzipped. “Someday I’ll do it with my cock, and it’ll feel so, so good.”  
He draped himself over my back once again, fitting his cock between my slick ass cheeks and rutting into them with deliberate thrusts.

“You’ll get to like it so much, that you’ll beg for it even when it’s inappropriate,” he continued, his voice rough in my ear. “You’ll just be so needy to be fucked by me that we’ll do it against the wall in your dressing room, me holding you up. Would you like that, sweetheart?”

I would have guessed that Blake would have an affinity for pet names, but the dirty talk? That was entirely unexpected. And not altogether unpleasant. 

“I like it all, Blake, all of it,” I keened, laying face down on the bed and happily submitting to his assertion. 

“Maybe I’ll bend you over Carson’s desk, and you’ll take me like that,” he said, continuing his thrusts, speeding up. “Maybe I’ll suck you off minutes before we go to our chairs and you’ll have that gorgeous blush on TV and you won’t be able to stop thinking about my mouth on you the whole time.”

After that, the only thing that came from his mouth were moans. Before long, he climaxed, gasping my name and covering my back with yet more semen.   
He rolled off of me after that, and we lay for a few moments in silence. I was the first to stand.

“I need a shower.”

Blake took in my naked form from where he lay on the bed, eyes traveling appreciatively over my body.  
“That would be an understatement,” he deadpanned at last, getting up to join me.

“Alone,” I clarified, rubbing my face.

“Ah. Okay,” Blake spoke softly, sitting back down on the bed. 

“You know where the other bathrooms are if you want to take one too,” I offered, trying to ignore his disappointment.

He flashed me a wary smile. “’Kay,” he replied, moving to pick up his clothes.   
I was halfway to the bathroom door when I turned. 

“Don’t leave.”

“I’ll never leave you, Adam,” was his solemn response. 

After closing the door to the bath, I honest to goodness had to work up some nerve to look in the mirror. Taking a deep breath, I stepped in front of the full-length affair.

The first thing I noticed were the hickeys. So. Many. Hickeys. 

This discovery was soon pushed aside when I beheld the sheer amount of cum covering my entire body. There was my own on my stomach and chest. Blake’s covered my back and was still dripping down my thighs. Somehow there was jizz in my hair, as well.

I felt like an absolute slut. 

Like, I’m Adam Levine. Playboy Levine. Sleep with three models a night Levine. Possibly at the same time Levine. And I had never felt as filthy as I did in that moment.

The disturbing part was that I liked it.

I stepped into the shower and let the hot water wash away evidence of my sins. Unfortunately, my mental turmoil was not so easily disposed of. I cried, without knowing exactly why.

The emotional vomit helped, though. By the time I stepped out of my glass box into the steam-filled bathroom, the knot in my stomach had loosened and my mind was made up, even if it was as foggy as the room I stood in. I toweled my hair dry and determinedly stepped back into the bedroom in the search for clothes.

I was able to avoid looking at the bed and the clothes beside it, but when I arrived at my dresser, I stepped on a button. 

A short recap of the previous night’s events and a few curses later, I managed to find an outfit that covered all the bruises except one. It was right under my jawline. Fuck Blake.

The immature side of me sniggered at the irony of that statement, and the rest of me frowned and said to get a life. Unfortunately, the immature side of me takes up around 80 percent of my being, so it usually wins.

Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and opened my bedroom door with an amount of force that was not strictly necessary but bolstering all the same.

The smell of coffee invaded my senses on the next breath. I resolutely marched down the stairs to the kitchen where Blake stood by the stove, cooking an omelet. He had found the clothes that he kept at my place and looked dangerously beautiful with his shirtsleeves rolled up and hair still damp.  
I ogled him for a bit, then rolled my eyes.

“Are you seriously doing the cliché morning-after “thanks for the sex” breakfast?”

He looked up with a soft smile. Damn those dimples.  
“Actually, I had no idea what to do with myself after I got out of the shower and this happened because the only alternative was thinking and that didn’t appeal to me.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his honesty. 

“Same,” I murmured, taking a seat across from him at the table.

“I love you, Adam,” he said suddenly. “Contracts and record labels and television shows be damned. I wish the sex hadn’t been so impulsive, but if I really think about it, we’ve spent four years tiptoeing around each other. It was about time, if you ask me.”

I leaned my elbow on the table and my face in my hand and looked at him. Looked through him. Looked into him. Saw myself in his eyes. Finally, I pulled myself out of my reverie.

“I never gave you a good morning kiss,” I mused, then smiled as his eyes lit up. And I got up and did just that, savoring the feeling of his lips on mine once again.

“I love you too, you crazy country cupcake. That much I know. But there’s a whole lot of other shit about myself that I still have to figure out,” I breathed into his lips.

“That’s okay,” he smiled, and kissed the hickey on my jaw.

The weekend had just begun, and we didn’t have to be back on the set of The Voice until the end of it. Two days flew by in a heartbeat, filled with laughter, tears, sex, and an unhealthy amount of steak. To be fair, it was really good steak. And the sex was downright phenomenal.

Sometime during all of it, I realized who I am. I’m not gay. I’m not straight either. I’m Blakesexual, and that’s enough. Love has never been, and never will be, the sort of thing that you can label or organize or plan. Love is such a sacred connection that it can, and will, defy all planes of gender and sexuality. I’ve never looked at another man the way I look at Blake, and I’ve honestly never looked at a woman like that either. Blake has always taken up my entire field of vision. Blake is enough. Blake completes me. No one else will ever be able to.

It sounds a bit cliché, written out like that. But it doesn’t matter if anyone else understands the philosophy, because we do, and that’s what matters. 

On Sunday night, I sat on the couch, receiving a blowjob from Blake, while presumably watching TV. I wasn’t. Whatever shit was on couldn’t compare to the sight of Blake between my legs.

Afterward, he sat on the couch and pulled me onto his lap so I was facing him.

“I love being on two knees in front of you,” he murmured, stroking my hair. “But someday, I’d really like to get down on one.”

My breath hitched as our eyes met and I took in the implication of his statement. I opened my mouth, but nothing would come out. Words aren’t meant for that sort of thing. So I gave him a hug.


End file.
